


Just Let Me Try

by pearl_o



Category: due South
Genre: Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray says, "Are you sure?" but even as it comes out, he knows he's saying it for him, not for Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Let Me Try

Ray says, "Are you sure?" but even as it comes out, he knows he's saying it for him, not for Fraser. Of course Fraser's sure; Fraser couldn't be _more_ sure; just the fact that he _asked_ probably means he's more sure than Ray's ever been about anything in his life.

Almost anything, at least.

Fraser doesn't say anything, just closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the pillow. Ray's lips are dry as he looks over at Fraser just lying there, naked and hard and perfectly still and just _waiting_, waiting for Ray to come through for him.

Ray can do this. He licks his lips and raises himself to his knees so he can climb on top of Fraser and straddle him. Jesus, Fraser's _face_ \-- for a second Ray doesn't think he can do this after all, but when he puts his hand on Fraser's jaw, Fraser curls up into the touch, and he's _smiling_, and he says, "Ray" in the softest voice you could imagine -- and Ray pulls himself together, moves his hand down to Fraser's throat.

Fraser's skin's softer here, mostly, with a few patches of roughness Ray wants to lick. Ray can feel all his muscles, can feel Fraser's strength beneath him, and that makes it a little easier, somehow, that physical reminder of what Fraser _is_, of what he _can do_, the fact that this is his _choice_.

"Firm," Fraser had said, "as, as firm as you're comfortable with, Ray. This part won't be affecting my air supply -- it's mostly psychological -- but--" Fraser had paused, and looked at him, and Ray had shivered, and Fraser had finished, "I want to _feel_ you."

So, okay, his hand on Fraser's throat, tighter, tighter -- he doesn't want to _hurt_ Fraser, he won't hurt Fraser. But Fraser knows that, too, Fraser knows him better than anybody, just like Ray _knows_ Fraser, Ray knows all about Fraser. Ray knows what Fraser needs, and if what Fraser needs is to be fucked while he can't breathe, well. That's what Ray's here for. Ray would motorcycle through a window for Fraser, he'd jump out of a plane, he'd take a bullet, he'd --

Anything. Whatever. Anything.

Ray moves his body a little, gets his thigh in between Fraser's legs, so Fraser will have something to thrust against. He's staring down at Fraser's face -- Fraser, Fraser, _Fraser_ \-- and he sets his hand on Fraser's face, palm to skin, and covers Fraser's mouth and nose.

"Love you, love you, love you," says Ray, mutters more to himself than Fraser. It's hard to balance, one hand on Fraser's throat, the other hand on his face, and moving his leg now, rubbing against Fraser's dick.

And Fraser is hard, Fraser is _so hard_, Ray doesn't even know how he hasn't come yet. Because he's never seen Fraser this far gone, Fraser is shaking under him, like he's trying to keep control but not quite making it, so Ray has to use his whole weight to hold him down. And Ray can't stop staring at his face, his eyelids shut tight, the wrinkles on his forehead and next to his eyes, the way his face looks like he's somewhere else entirely, like those pictures of the saints in Catholic school, all holy and weirdly sexy. Fraser's not a saint, he's a real guy, but he's a _better_ guy than anybody else Ray knows; who's to say he doesn't deserve a little ecstasy?

Ray's looking out for any sign that Fraser wants to stop, that this is enough, that he should let go, but it's not there. Fraser's hands on his hips, clutching at him almost helplessly, squeezing tight and loose -- like a cat on your lap, stretching its claws in and out. Ray can feel the tension beneath his hand on Fraser's throat, the pressure of Fraser's face underneath his other hand -- he can feel Fraser trying not to even _try_ to breathe, how hard he's trying, and it's like Fraser's excess lung capacity's run away with his shame. Fraser can't move so much, only thrust up a bit, the way Ray has him pinned down, so Ray has to move _for_ him, keep his thigh moving over and over against Fraser's slick, straining cock, make it as good for him as he can.

Fraser sucked him off before they started this, so Ray's shot his wad for the night already, but he thinks even if he hadn't, he wouldn't be hard now; he doesn't think he'd be able to keep it up, this is too weird, way too weird. But this isn't for Ray, this is for Fraser, this is all about Fraser, and what Fraser wants, and what Fraser needs -- and whatever Fraser needs, Ray can provide. Who else is going to? Nobody, that's who; Ray's the one who loves him, Ray's the one who's here, and Ray's the one Fraser trusts -- trusts _so fucking much_ Ray almost feels dizzy with it.

And when Fraser finally, finally lets go, he comes like a juggernaut. And Ray's done it, it's good, and he falls to Fraser's side and kisses his face, the tears just barely leaking from his eyes while Fraser gasps and gasps and gasps.

"Ray--" Fraser says. "Ray, Ray, Ray--" he says, and he rolls them over and kisses Ray, deep and sweet and fervent, for a long time.

* * *

When Ray wakes up in the morning, Fraser's making pancakes. When Ray stumbles into the kitchen there's coffee brewing on the counter, and the table's set for two, with melted butter and heated-up maple syrup and some weird berry stuff all in little pitchers next to their plates. Fraser's in front of the griddle humming to himself, and Dief's sitting next to him, watching attentively and pretending to be patient.

"Good morning," Fraser says, and Ray mumbles in response. He pours himself a mug and sits down at the chair nearest the window, so the morning sun's coming in on him; Ray appreciates all the sun he can get here. He keeps the steaming mug cupped between his two hands, warming them both, and watches Fraser play a whiz with the spatula till he's finished cooking the last of the pancakes.

Fraser brings two plates to the table -- Fraser likes his pancakes with lots of weird crap in them, fruits and vegetables and grains and all sorts of stuff that Ray is convinced has no place anywhere near something simple as a pancake, so he always splits the batch in two. Fraser's pancakes are perfectly round today, all exactly the same size as each other, but Ray's are funny shaped. He looks up at Fraser for a second, but Fraser's busy with the maple syrup, and when Ray looks down again he can almost see the shape of a car, of the GTO, and the longer he looks the better he can see it, and it makes him grin like an idiot. And making car-shaped pancakes freehand should probably be impossible, but there's a lot of stuff Fraser does that nobody else could do.

"Hey, Dief," Ray says, "catch!" And he tosses two of his pancakes across the floor and watches Dief leap up and catch them both perfectly in his mouth before sitting down to eat them properly.

Fraser makes a little tsking noise next to him, but Ray just grins at him and steals the syrup pitcher from his hands.


End file.
